Cruel Games
by The Queen of Heartless
Summary: The 26th Hunger Games. "After last year's Games, many people thought they would never see a more violent, more bloodthirsty Games. They were wrong. So horribly wrong." For the Capitol can never be satisfied, and this year, they are determined to produce the most memorable deaths imaginable...
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

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******A/N: Hey guys, welcome to Cruel Games! Sorry this prologue is so short, but don't worry - more coming soon!**

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Praetor Lawson had been known that one of the kids from District 2 would have won. He would've preferred Aloe Templare. He had thought very highly of Aloe. They'd even kissed once, but he knew that had been a mistake even at the time. There was no point getting attached to tributes, because even though District 2 had the highest winning rate in the Hunger Games, many often died.

Dain Winters…where to start? Praetor had never wanted Dain to win – because who wanted a psychopathic victor? There were already enough to go around. Praetor's mouth curled in disgust at the thought of the violent, sadistic tribute. He had gone out of his way to torture the other tributes and that had nearly been his undoing. He had managed to finish off the last few tributes all too quickly.

Praetor hated the Games, hated them more than anything else. He was only eighteen, but he'd already seen enough blood, gore and pain to last him a lifetime. In the 24th Hunger Games, sixteen-year-old Praetor had won by slitting the throat of the girl from District 7. It was a thought that still haunted him. He may have been cold and calculated about killing at the time, but two years later, the nightmares plagued him.

Reaping Day was soon. Praetor shuddered at the thought of mentoring more tributes, tributes that would most likely die. The Careers volunteered for honour and glory – Praetor knew this, because that was why he'd done it. The only difference was, he'd succeeded.

Praetor knew well enough that no victor had truly survived the Games unchanged. In all cases, a part of them had died in the arena – whether it was their morals, their spirit or their sanity. The Games had ruined Praetor's life. Because of them, he had come back as a shell of the boy he'd once been. Last year it had been terrible because they'd been voted for – so really after the Quarter Quell, things could only get better, right?

Wrong.


	2. Districts 1, 3, 5 Reapings

**District 1, 3, 5 Reapings**

**District 1 – Dawn Mooney**

"Get up!" snarls Dad, shaking me roughly awake. I groan and attempt to roll over, but I find the sheets torn from my grasp and then my mattress is tipped up so that I'm roughly deposited on the floor. Okay, well, now I'm wide awake. Dad aims a kick in my direction, but I roll out of the way.

"What's your problem?" I snap at him. He hates it when I give him attitude, but I don't care. It's not like I have respect for him anymore. Not after he pressured Carter into the 24th Hunger Games, where he made the top eight, but was killed by that Praetor Lawson guy from District 2.

"It's Reaping day," Dad reminds me, grabbing my arm and tugging me to my feet, "Your mother is making you breakfast, so get downstairs."

Uh oh. Mum's a snob and she'd never do something for anyone else unless it would benefit her. I know what this means and I pull my arm from Dad's grasp and march downstairs. My thirteen-year-old sister, Emilia, is already chomping down some toast. She looks curiously at me as I sit down across the table.

"What?" I shoot at her.

Emilia just shrugs. "Nothing. I just heard Dad telling Mum that you plan to volunteer for the Games today."

I never said that, but like I care. Dad's always been brutal when it comes to the Games, always nagging for me to volunteer. I'm seventeen now, the same age my older brother Carter was when he volunteered two years ago. Last year was different because of the stupid voting thing, so the girl was some kid, Cassie Leigh Night. She lasted longer than I expected. Only this year, it's my turn.

I sneer as Mum sets down some eggs and bacon in front of me.

"What's the beat this gives me food poisoning?"

"Shut up and eat, Dawn," Dad spits as he enters the kitchen. Mum just glares at me and turns away. She's really good at that. Mum doesn't have a job, but she has this sort of attitude where she looks down her nose at everyone. Honestly, she's such a bitch. "You've got a big day ahead of you. You're going to make us proud like Carter couldn't."

Carter and I were really close before he volunteered for the Games. There was only two years difference between us. Dad knows this and a slow smile spreads across his face. I think he's waiting for me to shove my dish to the ground so it smashes, and then lunge at him. I'm not playing by his rules, though. So I just give a little shrug as if I don't care, and continue eating.

I head upstairs after breakfast and comb back my curly white blonde hair. I look into the mirror and smirk at what I see. I know that I'm beautiful in an ice queen way, with my fair skin and crystal blue eyes. The only thing I don't like is how short I am. Despite my age, I'm not even five feet tall. I've been training for the Hunger Games since I was six years old though, so I definitely stand a chance. More than a chance – I'm going to win these Games for sure.

Last year's tributes were killed by District 9. How tragic for them – and also how embarrassing. The District 9 boy was a total pretty boy and the girl was pathetic. How she won the Games, I'll never know. So this year, I'm going to show the other districts that I'm not someone they can mess with.

There's a knock on the door and I smile to myself as I go to answer it. I know who it is – my friends, because I wouldn't be caught dead heading down to the Games with my parents and little sister. Daniella shrieks and practically throws herself at me.

"Dawn, darling! You look absolutely stunning!"

I smirk and toss back my hair, shrugging. I'm not going to act modest or deny it, because what's the point? We all know that I'm beautiful. Daniella is the only one of my friends who is the same age as me. The others are Timothy – who is a year older, and Daniella's boyfriend – and Brooke, who is sixteen.

"Are you volunteering this year?" Brooke asks, her eyes as wide as saucers.

Volunteering is really interesting in the Career districts. A couple of years ago, two girls tried to volunteer at the same time and ended up getting in a catfight. It was the funniest thing ever. I know that if I want to volunteer, I have to be quick about it.

"Of course. So you'd better not even think about it, Brooke. You've got next year and the year after, in any case."

Brooke wouldn't dare to volunteer now that she knows I plan to. That's the good thing about my friends – I can put them back in their place and they'll immediately back down. The four of us head down to the square, where everyone's already gathering. Daniella and Timothy stand there and make out for a few moments before Daniella links her arm through mine and we head over to the seventeen-year-olds' section.

"Do you have to eat each other's faces in public?" I drawl.

Daniella giggles and nudges me. "Ooh, touchy. Just because some of us can handle long-term commitment."

She's right, of course. I've had a lot of relationships, but they've never really got very far because they don't last more than a few months. I tend to get bored with guys easily. Daniella and I lapse into silence, along with everyone else, as our escort crosses the stage.

Daniella raises her eyebrows after the opening speech, which practically bores us to death about the history of Panem, and I get the message as Radiance Fair reaches towards the bowl that contains the girl's names. I step out of the seventeen-year-olds' section.

"I volunteer."

Radiance doesn't even skip a beat. This is so common in District 1 that she just nods as I stride towards the front of the congregation. Radiance is the sort of bleak escort that is all sorts of boring, so I announce my name before she even has time to open her mouth and ask.

"Dawn Mooney."

Radiance barely has time to turn towards the boy's bowl before someone else steps out of the crowd with those often-heard words; "I volunteer" that have become somewhat of a mantra in the Career districts.

It's Vladimir Darek. He's the same age as me. I watch him as he approaches, eying my district partner carefully. Vladimir has short, spiky white-blond hair and angled silver-grey eyes. He is tanned and very muscular, standing at around 6'2. A diamond piercing glitters in the top of his left ear. He doesn't have many friends and a lot of people think he's a goth.

I give him a smug smile as he joins me at the podium. He just clenches his jaw and doesn't look at me, so I shrug nonchalantly. Vladimir's going to be a very interesting district partner. We're going to have to team up with the kids from 2 and 4, as happens every year. I know last year's Careers took on the boy from 3, but there's no way that's happening this time around. I mean, we need strong people, not little techies who aren't going to get us anywhere. This year, things will be different. I just know it.

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**District 3 – Liam Karmeon**

The tea was cold by the time I got downstairs, but I drank it all anyway. I know why the tension is so thick you could slice through it with a knife. It's Reaping day and everyone's worried. Camirah seems a little more relaxed than everyone else, but that's because she's nineteen and is too old to be reaped. But it's different for the twins – that is, Monica and Juliet – and me.

"The tea's okay?" Mum asks, wringing her hands nervously. I know why she's being so nice to me and probably the twins as well. She knows there's a chance, slim as it is, that one of us could be reaped. Or more than one – like those poor siblings from District 5 last year, neither of which came home.

"Maureen," Dad sighs. He's more to the point about things. He doesn't beat about the bush, so to speak. I remember how annoyed he was last year when we were watching the 25th Hunger Games and the boy from our district joined the Careers. Donnicon, I think his name was. It's weird, though, because he survived longer than the girl, Jenna. Traitors seem to survive.

"Go upstairs and get ready, Liam," Dad says authoritatively, "Find something nice to wear, alright?"

The only good thing about the Reaping is that the girls all look smoking hot. Everyone takes it as a chance to dress up nice and I can see that some of them are total babes when they get all formally dressed. I might make a better impression if my copper hair wasn't streaked with black – but my friends dared me to, so I can blame it on them. I never back down from a dare.

I felt like I was going to be sick as I stood with the rest of the seventeen-year-olds. Perhaps it was the cold tea, or maybe it was because Reaping day always made me feel so nervous. I steal a glance across at the fifteen-year-olds. I can't see Monica and Juliet from here.

Our escort, Ellisepeth Peruvian, offers a tight-lipped smile as she finishes droning on about the history of Panem and moves across to the girl's bowl. She pulls out the name and unfolds it.

"Yelena Tavros."

A small girl who doesn't even look ten let alone twelve steps out nervously. I can see the fear in her eyes, the way her hands are shaking…

"I volunteer!"

A curly-haired blonde practically throws herself from the fourteen-year-olds section. I recognize her vaguely – her name is Jelly Ambrose. Her brother Mickey was reaped six years ago, but because he was crippled Daniel Thanos – our current victor – took his place. I know Mickey because he was two years above me in school. I watch Jelly as she passes, her hazel eyes burning with determination as she reaches the podium.

"What is your name?" Ellisepeth asks.

"Jelly. Jelly Ambrose."

At one stage, Juliet said that the Ambrose kids' real names were Mikhail and Evanjelin, but apparently their names are _actually _Mickey and Jelly. I watch, my stomach doing loop-the-loops, as Ellisepeth reaches into the boy's bowl, very slowly. I want to yell at her to hurry up, to get this over and done with.

"Liam Karmeon."

Poor Liam. The guy's probably going to get killed in the Hunger Games, because we all know the Careers win most of the time…oh, wait. _I'm _Liam. It's _my _name that's been called. For a moment it's like my heart has stopped beating – but then I remember that all of Panem is watching, so I flash a smirk of confidence that I don't really feel as I make my way to the front where Jelly stands.

I'm not tall – only 5'9 – but Jelly is still tiny in comparison. She must be barely over feet tall. She even looks like a little kid with her smattering of freckles and delicate features. Something tells me she won't last long at all in the arena, but I keep my mouth shut. She's trembling and looks as though she can't believe what she's done.

Daniel Thanos, our mentor, is looking across at Jelly with shock written all over his face. He's what, in his early twenties? Pretty young for a District 3 victor. We haven't exactly had many victors. That's left to the Career districts. The snobs, the psychopaths and the athletes. In that order.

"Congratulations," Ellisepeth says, as if we've won a soccer tournament and haven't just been signed up to die.

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**District 5 – Audrina Thorndew**

I remember last year's Games all too well. I didn't really know the tributes from our district – Apollo and Artemis Palein – but now they're practically all anyone ever talks about when it comes to the Games. Those poor siblings, sent to their deaths. What they don't ever say is that we're the ones who sent them there.

I tell my parents I'm going out early, but in reality I'm heading to see Decca. She's my best friend – probably one of my only friends, actually. She lives in a community home, which basically means it's an orphanage. I've known her since I was eleven, but I haven't told my parents about them.

Decca doesn't smile much, and today there's even less reason to smile. Rumour has it that community home kids and orphans are deliberately put into the Games because they have no parents to miss them. Last year's were orphans, but they were fairly well off. Decca is sitting just outside the community home, picking absently at the grass.

"You look nice," Decca observes my outfit with a wry look on her face and my cheeks flush. Damn the fact that I'm so pale – it means when I blush it's really obvious. I rake a strand of auburn hair out of my dark green eyes. Mum cut it lately and it's short and quite shaggy.

I'm wearing a green blouse, a black skirt and some flats. It's not extremely fancy, but it's probably the nicest outfit that I own.

"Thanks. I only wish I had something I could lend you."

I'm slender, but although I'm fifteen and Decca's only a year younger, she's rail-thin and wouldn't fit into anything of mine. I search Decca's face for more signs of abuse, but there are none. The older kids in the community home treat her as an outcast and see that as a reason to beat her up. I'm the only person Decca talks to about it.

"It's fine," Decca replies, "Besides, I want the attention to be on you. _Especially _a certain someone's attention…"

I nudge her as we both grin. I know she's talking about Vale Sorrin. He's a year older than me and lives with his aunt and uncle, who are in their early twenties. They're quite poor and that's the problem – the poorer kids don't really like to associate with me. I see Vale around a lot, going around the district doing odd jobs for some extra money. We've only spoken twice, both times only briefly.

"You'd better get down to the square," Decca says, then we both stand and she hugs me quickly. "Good luck."

"You, too," I reply, feeling guilty that there's a much bigger chance that Decca's going to be picked rather than me.

I walk down towards the square and everyone is starting to flock around. Mum and Dad are already there with my six-year-old sister, Lavinia. Mum throws me a questioning look, but I just shrug it off and head over to the fifteen-year-olds section. I notice Vale walking past and I nearly say something, but then I decide not to.

Our escort, Rhubar Trinidad, is an overly enthusiastic man. He walks around with a buoyant air and a mouth that's practically unhinged, talking to everyone. He stops talking to our mentor, Reuben DeLacqua – who looks relieved – and heads over to the podium, launching into a bombastic speech about Panem. As if anyone cares.

"Ladies first," Rhubar smiles, reaching into the glass bowl and then fairly bellowing out the name: "Audrina Thorndew!"

But…but that's me. It can't be me. I swear most of District 5 had a better chance than me. I swallow my apprehension and my knees are weak and wobbly as I make my way up to the podium. I look everywhere I can but at Decca or my parents. I don't want to see my horror mirrored in their expressions.

"Time for the boy," Rhubar reaches into the boy's glass bowl and I find myself hoping with all my might that it won't be Vale – but fate hasn't been on my side today. However, I'm relieved that it's not Vale's name Rhubar calls. "Dash Thorn!"

A thirteen-year-old boy with a shock of strawberry blond hair steps forth. He's small, smaller than me even. He's skinny with braces and freckles and I don't want to lose hope, but I know that he doesn't stand a chance, and I won't if I stick with him. Last year, all the young ones were killed off first. But I don't really know enough about Dash to make a judgment.

We don't matter to District 5. Dash and I, we're just two more tributes who will go into the Hunger Games and we might make it out, we might not. The rest of Panem wants us dead so that their own tributes can live. Under their breaths and in their minds, they're chanting, 'kill, kill, kill'.

I know because last year, that was what I was doing. I wanted them dead, all of them except Apollo or Artemis. Not because I cared, but because they were from our district. Now, I'm disgusted at myself. Those are real people out there, getting hunted and brutally killed. As of this year, I'm one of them.


	3. District 2, 4, 6 Reapings

**District 2, 4, 6 Reapings**

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**A/N: Sorry that this update is so late! I've edited the errors in the first chapter. Also, if you haven't, I'd love it if you could check out 'Dig Up The Bones', a Finnick/OC story on my normal account. You can find it under my favourites, for the sake of convenience.**

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**District 2 – Nefarius Wrath**

I was a little disappointed that Praetor had said no to buying me some alcohol on Reaping day. I didn't want to get drunk, I just wanted something to ease my nerves a little. Wait, I did not just admit that. I am a future District 2 tribute and I should know no fear. But still…I would feel a little better if I had some liquid fire burning down my throat right now.

In my family, it's expected that I'll enter the Hunger Games. It's also expected that I win. I wish I could say it's just my parents' hopeful thinking…but after my cousin, Praetor, won the 24th Hunger Games, it's starting to look more like a reality. I'm their only son and they want me to do them proud. Who am I to deny them? I'm not a bloodthirsty psychopath like that Dain Winters, who won last year, but I'm far from flinching at the thought of killing.

It would be cool to head down to the Reaping with Praetor, but because he's the talking to the current victor, Dain, that isn't allowed. I respect my cousin, but I know he's changed since the 24th Hunger Games. Praetor has become quite reclusive. He didn't go insane, though. He killed and it was bloody and not always quick, but he wasn't the sort of sicko like Dain who caused pain for the hell of it. I shudder at the thought of Dain. Praetor has gained permission to accompany the volunteers to the Capitol. It must be so relieving to whoever volunteers…which might very well be me.

There's a knock on the door and I grin as I go to answer it, knowing exactly who to expect. Sure enough, my three best mates are standing outside. Pyre Hallowell is making quite a show of fixing his tie, as Dodge Valiant and Crux Davies snort with laughter. I just roll my eyes.

"Knock it off."

"We know," Pyre nods and feigns a bow, "You're the cousin of a victor. We should have more respect. I am so sorry, your Eminence."

Dodge snickers and I cuff Pyre around the back of the head. Pyre's the joker and always has been. When the mood gets too serious, he's the one who always gets us laughing. Crux is the strong, silent type. He likes to think it gets him girls. Dodge is sixteen, a year younger than the rest of us, and about half the size. He's a thin, weedy boy who'd probably get beaten up if we weren't around.

"You volunteering today?" Crux asks me as we head down to the square. We all know that I'm going to and that I only have this year and next year left.

I just shrug. "Depends on who gets reaped. I can always go next year."

The square is crowded with eager people. In places like the Career districts, everyone's practically tripping over their feet just for the chance to get into the Hunger Games. In the lower districts though, it's apparently a heart-breaking event. I suppress a snort of disgust as I join Crux and Pyre in the seventeen-year-olds section.

As our district's escort, Shadow Gloom, dutifully blathers on about Panem, I'm looking across at Praetor, who stands there pale-faced and grim. He admitted to me that he kissed Aloe Templare, last year's girl tribute. I know it must be horrible to be him, having to deal with tributes and knowing that they're going to die. Dain stands beside him, stifling a yawn. He's a big guy, Dain, even bigger than Praetor.

"Now for our female tribute." Shadow reaches in and picks up the piece of paper from the glass bowl, before reading out the name. "Willabella Sprintrose."

"I volunteer!" shouts another girl, and someone with reddish-brown hair pushes their way through the sixteen-year-olds section and heads towards the front. I recognized her from training – Lysedri Sprintrose, Willabella's twin sister. She's small, only about 5'3 or so, but she's a good fighter so she might actually last a while.

"What's your name?" Shadow asks her.

Lysedri's green-brown eyes narrow and her lips are pressed together in determination.

"Lysedri Sprintrose."

Shadow inclines his head. Volunteers are common in District 2. You can't go a year without having them. All the kids that have been trained are dying to get into the Games – no pun intended. Shadow moved across to the boy's bowl and unscrews a piece of paper.

"Dodge Valiant."

Crux and I exchange a meaningful glance. Oh, no. No, this won't do at all. It's not only because Dodge is such a weed, but also I don't want a friend of mine gaining the glory…or perhaps even ruining District 2's chances. We need good, strong tributes. So I step forward, knowing that this year is my year.

"I volunteer."

Shadow doesn't even raise an eyebrow as I walk towards the front of the congregation. Dodge watches me in stunned silence. Maybe he's disappointed, but there's always next year.

"And your name is?"

I lift my chin proudly. "Nefarius Wrath."

Lysedri meets my gaze with a hard one of her own. If she thinks she's intimidating, she's not. Especially when she's at least a foot smaller than I am. I just smirk and shrug. Fortunately for her, she isn't too pretty. Praetor has told me what happens to the good-looking tributes. They are used at the Capitol, if they win. Which of course, Lysedri won't be.

I look towards Praetor with a smug smile on my face, but although his face is a dispassionate mask, I can see his eyes glittering with pure fury. He's angry that I volunteered. What, is it because he doesn't want me trying to upstage him? I'm slightly confused as to why he looks so annoyed all of a sudden. He clearly doesn't want me participating in the 26th Hunger Games.

Dain looks nonchalant. His eyes are cold when they search me, and I wonder what sort of 'advice' he would offer Lysedri and I. Probably to prolong the deaths as much as possible. I clench my jaw and meet his gaze squarely. If he's going to try and intimidate me, he'll find he's got another thing coming.

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**District 4 – Arrowlyn Ryder**

I wring the water out of my bronze hair as I make my way to the square with my best friend, Thyme Ozera. I'd love to be able to say that I've just come out fresh from the ocean – huh, I wish. More like my older sister River practically threw me into the shower and told me to get ready for the Reaping. I suppose it could be worse. Last year was the Quarter Quell and I'm really glad that it wasn't me picked for that – but I did feel sorry for poor Tea Ryan and Falcon Martins.

"You think we'll have any volunteers?" Thyme asks as we walk towards the square, our arms interlinked. I'm only glad that my sister is too old for the Games and my brother is too young.

I roll my eyes. "Ugh, don't we always? Some idiot wanting to prove themselves…"

Sometimes they manage it, like our current victor, Myliana Cook. She's in her early twenties and was forced to turn on her district partner when they were the only two left. It's a story that's left half of District 4 hating her, and the other half pitying her.

I don't like to let people in. That's why Thyme is probably one of my few friends. I'm good at reading people, at seeing their true colours…and a lot of people don't like it. But I don't mind that they stay away from me. They don't like my mind games, but I don't like them. I have a few other friends as well, but Thyme has always been the closest to me.

"You ready for this?" Thyme mutters as we file in with the other sixteen-year-olds. Our escort, Alethea Snare, is already crossing to the podium, clearly eager to get started. Well, normally District 4 doesn't do so badly, so if I get reaped I won't have to worry…well, not at first. Being Careers, we survive the bloodbaths…most of the time.

Ugh, I hate the Hunger Games. Especially the fact that being from District 4, our alliances are seemingly set in stone. We have to ally with District 1, who care more about how they look than anything else, and District 2, who are bloodthirsty killers. Then you've got us, District 4. We're probably the sportiest, so if we turned on the other Careers, at least we'd stand a chance at getting away from them.

The other districts aren't really a threat. Well, okay, that's not true. Sometimes you get surprises, like District 9 last year. I never would have expected that girl to win. Some tributes are tougher than you'd think. Normally the surprises come from Districts 3, 5 and 6. The lower districts are normally too underfed to pose a challenge.

Wait, why am I even thinking about this? I can suddenly tell that I'm paranoid about being reaped, or else I wouldn't think twice about how I would dodge an arrow from District 9, or avoid being killed by an axe-wielding maniac from District 7.

"Arrow?" Thyme touches my shoulder, "Are you okay? You look like you've totally zoned out all of a sudden."

It's always this time of year. The rest of the time I'm confident and cocky as can be…but during the reaping, we all change. Some of us get serious and others excited. Some homicidal idiots are going to volunteer, I just know it. I shrug off Thyme's hand and she bites her lip, obviously worried about me. I'm going to be fine. There's no way I'm going into the Hunger Games, not with…

"Thyme Ozera."

Oh. My. God.

My best friend's eyes widen as her name is called out. I never would have expected that and suddenly, no one is stepping forward to volunteer. Maybe they're afraid to die, to meet the same sort of horrible death as Tea Ryan or Falcon Martins. Maybe they just want to see Thyme survive in the arena, see if she's up to it.

I just can't take it anymore. The silence is driving me crazy and so is the fact that Thyme has been picked. She's going to be up against savage brutes from the other Career districts that will kill her without a second thought.

"I volunteer!"

I leap forward to take Thyme's place. She gasps as if she can't believe what she's doing. Neither can I, actually. I'm so not Hunger Games material, but Thyme is my _best friend._ I'm not letting her go in there to die.

"What's your name, girl?" Alethea asks as I step up to the podium.

'Girl'. That reminds me that it doesn't matter who I am, I'm just another nameless tribute to Panem…unless I win. If I win, I go down in history. So I lift my chin and offer Alethea a cocky smile, full of a confidence that I don't feel.

"Arrowlyn Ryder."

Alethea shrugs and I can tell that she doesn't really care. The boy's name is next and I turn to look over the sea of faces, wishing that it could be the real ocean with waves crashing down around me, wishing that this was all a bad dream.

"Rox Delmer."

Oh, no. I freeze as a hulk-like boy from the fifteen-year-old section shoves his way out of the crowd. I recognized that jagged haircut, the malicious gleam in those green eyes. He was a boy of around 5'8, with olive skin, a pointed chin and high cheekbones. Rox's family all drowned inexplicably, and now Rox lives like a hermit. No one knows where.

My ability to read people becomes dangerous when it comes to Rox. I know that he was never really a nice person and I suspect that he has something to do with the way his family all drowned. I mean, come on. We're District 4. It's not like we can't swim. It's not only Rox's family though – other people have been found from time to time and I'm almost certain Rox has something to do with it.

A shiver runs down my spine as Rox approaches. Suddenly, it's not the rest of the Careers I'm afraid of. It's my own district partner. Because if I form an alliance with him, I'm dead sure that he's going to kill me.

* * *

**District 6 – Jester Harlequin**

"Lazy! Get out of bed!" screeches my fourteen-year-old sister, Diadem.

I know what day it is. I reach up with a groan, shoving her away. She yowls as if I've slapped her. Diadem's always been a whiny little brat. Hearing her making so much noise, my mum, Opium, comes up the stairs. I used to call her Mum, but now I call her Opium. Ever since Dad died, it doesn't really feel like I have parents.

"What's going on?" Opium demands, her beady eyes shifting accusingly to me…as they always do. Precious Diadem never does a thing wrong in her mummy's eyes. "Harley, what have you done now?"

Well, if you had a name like _Jester Harlequin_, I'm pretty sure you would want to be called Harley as well. I mean, please. Opium has forever tried to get me to respond to 'Jester', but when I was thirteen she gave up.

"Nothing," I spit, jabbing a finger in Diadem's direction, "That little…she came in here and woke me up."

Diadem knows I need my sleep. After all, she's the one in school and although I'm sixteen, I'm already working at the labs. I specialize in medicine and poisons. It wasn't essential that I quit school and start working, but since Dad died and Opium is hopeless, I decided it was the best idea.

Opium raises her eyebrows. Of course she's going to side with her little favourite.

"Just get up and stop your complaining," she snaps, slamming the door closed on her way out.

I rake back my short dark brown hair in agitation. I roll my eyes as I pass the mirror. Not really much to look at – 5'9, thin, a couple of freckles. The only remarkable thing about me is my bright blue eyes, which I got from Dad. I almost hope that Diadem gets reaped this year – but I quickly shake the thought away. That's way too cruel.

Last year's tributes were Wolf Merritt-Bice and Lyssa Oak. I didn't know either of them that well. Wolf actually made it nearly until the final eight, until that District 9 bitch killed him. He actually made some pretty good allies. The District 4 girl was hot. Shame the District 12 boy kind of mad before the end. I suppose it happens.

I head down to the square with Opium and Diadem, my younger sister whining the whole time about what's going to happen if she gets picked for the Games. I just roll my eyes. Always concerned about herself. I guess I'm the same, but Diadem has people that listen to her whinge. I keep to myself…at least, since Dad's death. I squeeze my way through the group of sixteen-year-olds. My eyes are fixed on the podium, where our rather delicious escort Diamondixia Lire is chatting animatedly with an uncaring Spencer Greaves, victor from the 2nd Hunger Games. Yeah, District 6 hasn't won the Games in a long time.

Finally Diamondixia gives up on the moody Spencer and heads across to the podium, beaming. She launches merrily into a speech about how Panem came to be. I stifle a yawn and I know that I'm not the only one. But when Diamondixia crosses to the bowls containing the names of all the eligible boys and girls in District 6, I start paying attention.

"Lilith Tarrow!"

I know Lilith vaguely. I watch as the pretty girl pushes her way through the fifteen-year-old section. Her hair is this burnt amber colour, with pixie-like features. Her skin's porcelain pale, the only hint that she's been out in the sun a few golden freckles sprinkled across her nose. Her eyes are a wide, chocolate brown and right now they're huge with fear.

Lilith was a year below me in school when I actually went. Her baby sister Eve died, and her only other sibling is Tanner, who's ten years younger than she is. She was always really smart, so she probably stands a good chance in the Hunger Games. She gets to the podium and offers the crowd a rather tight smile. Then Diamondixia is reaching into the boy's bowl, reaching in and pulling out a small piece of paper…

"Jester Harlequin."

Dammit. Couldn't she just say Harley? Everyone would know who she meant…umm…wait a minute, that name sounds pretty familiar. My feet start walking forwards of their own accord before my brain's even fully comprehended the fact that I'm this year's male tribute. For someone so smart, I can be really dumb sometimes.

Lilith's just watching me with an impassive expression on her face. She knows as little about me as I do about her. She knows I have a sister, Diadem, and that my dad died…but that's about it. We're stuck in this together and we hardly even know each other. Great, this is just fantastic.

Diamondixia signals for Lilith and I to shake hands. We do so, both of us forcing smiles like we're so excited…but we're not Careers. We're just the smart kids, like District 3. Lilith's grip is tighter than I'd expect from someone so small and thin.

She gives me a quizzical glance as if to say, 'Do you think we stand a chance?'

I tense for a moment, before I give the slightest shake of my head. No. No, I don't think we stand a chance. Our only victor is Spencer Greaves from the 2nd Hunger Games. This year's winner will be a Career, I just know it.


End file.
